


One Last Drink

by vaqabond



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Alcoholism, Avengers: End Game, Avengers: Endgame, Avengers: Infinity War, End Game, Endgame, Gen, Infinity War, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Substance Abuse, drunk, mentions of peter and pepper, post IW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 03:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16946106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaqabond/pseuds/vaqabond
Summary: If only he and Peter had pulled off the gauntlet from Thanos’ grip just a second quicker, then perhaps Peter and Strange and the Guardians would still be alive and rejoicing in their victory.Maybe Tony would have been drinking in celebration rather than desperation.---In which Tony tries drowning his sorrows in alcohol as the Guardians’ ship makes its last journey through the merciless expanse of space.This takes place right after Infinity War and just before the trailer to End Game.





	One Last Drink

Tony currently sat on a bunk bed in the Guardians’ ship. He sat with his back against the wall, body somewhat hunched over, and feet haphazardly resting on the ground in an uncomfortable position. If he had to guess, he was sat on the bed of Peter Quill, judging by the childish decoration that littered the wall beside the bunk. Had it been another time, he would have enjoyed and even poked fun at the cute decor, but for the time being, it only made him depressed. And anxious. And angry, and a whole hell of a lot of emotions.

 

He played with the empty bottle that rested in the calloused palms of his hands. He didn’t recognize the language printed on the label, but he assumed it was some form of… space alcohol. He finished off the bottle just a few minutes ago, but he hadn’t gotten up to get another just yet. He instead sat in tipsy silence, recounting all of his mistakes leading up to this moment.

 

Just a little more than a week ago, he watched helplessly as Peter Parker slipped away from Tony’s grasp-- _life’s_ grasp-- and drifted away into fearful nothingness. The look in the kid’s eyes would still haunt the older Avenger days later, as he sat alone on the bunk of a deceased acquaintance.

 

The kid had so much to offer life, why was he the one that got taken away? Tony had already served his purpose, he should’ve been taken instead, not Parker, not innocent, pure, amazing Peter Parker. Peter had his whole life ahead of him, but instead, it was cut short with just the snap of the fingers. It made Tony’s blood boil and skin prickle with suppressed anger. If he had the choice, he knew for a fact that he would lay down his life just for the chance for Peter to grow up and become the man he was meant to be. He was Spider- _Man_ dammit, he wasn’t meant to die as a _boy_! He had friends, family, a _city_ to go back to, but instead, his remains rested on a deserted planet far off in space.

 

What would Peter think of him now, sitting motionless aside from the toying of the empty bottle in his cold, cold hands? He tried playing the thought in his head, imagining what the kid would say if he were alive beside Tony just now.

 

“Mr. Stark, what’s going to happen?” he’d probably ask.

 

To which Tony would respond with something along the lines of, “I don’t know.” And he hoped to _god_ that the kid would just take that as an answer, but of course he wouldn’t. He was stubborn Peter Parker.

 

“Well, what if we used the fuel from the ship as a catalysis for making water? Or we changed the engine to make it work faster, and when we’re finished we could--”

 

And, of course, Tony would respond with something about those ideas not working in some way or another. Peter’s unwavering hope would drive Tony further into despair, as he currently felt absolutely helpless. He felt helpless and guilty and hurt and _sad_. Peter died because Tony wasn’t strong enough, or smart enough, or fast enough to defeat Thanos. Thanos got his way due to the failures of Anthony Edward Stark, stupid, poor, playboy failure. And now Peter was gone. The Guardians were gone. Strange was gone.

 

Nebula had tried telling Tony that it wasn’t his fault, that he tried his best. But he didn’t listen. If only he had been a little more clever in his rationale in fighting the purple beast of a man, then perhaps none of this would have happened. If only he and Peter had pulled off the gauntlet from Thanos’ grip just a second quicker, then perhaps Peter and Strange and the Guardians would still be alive and rejoicing in their victory. 

 

Maybe Tony would have been drinking in celebration rather than desperation.

 

If half of the population dying wasn’t enough to set off Tony’s unending despair, his dwindling supplies would. He was slowly running out of food and water, despite he and Nebula’s best efforts with rationing. Tony felt weak and tired and so goddamn cold all the time, it was unbelievable. Who would have thought that the wide expanse of ever-expanding space would be so incredibly cold? Nebula shut off most of the interior heating for the ship to lower fuel usage a few days ago, but Tony found this hard to cope with. He would take the constant attack of hunger on his stomach or the savanna in his throat over freezing any day.

 

The chilled temperature also magnified his feeling of loneliness. Sure, he had Nebula on the ship with him, but she wasn’t the same as Peter or Steve or Bruce or Pepper--

 

God, how could he forget about _Pepper_? Pepper was his fucking fiance, yet he only thought about Peter or his supplies. He felt incredibly worthless as a could've-been husband. Was Pepper even alive? Did she think of him? Or did she forget about him, too, with all that’s occurred recently? Tony was stupid, stupid. Forgetting the most important thing in his life, the beautiful, amazing, talented Pepper Potts. Could have been Pepper Stark, had Tony not failed her.

 

Tony tried suppressing the sensation of painful thirst as he prepared to take another drink from his space brandy when he came to the sudden realization that his bottle was empty. Of course it was empty, you pathetic man, he thought to himself. He’s been sitting on Quill’s bunk in a stupor for a while now, playing with the damn thing. He’d momentarily forgot about his fiance, and now he forgot about his drink.

 

He leaned away from the wall he rested against and scooted over to the edge of the bunk, preparing himself to rise. He wasn’t terribly drunk, and if anything he still considered himself somewhat sober. Still, he took precaution when making such big movements as to not fall and make a fool of himself.

 

He took a small breath in, before finally raising himself off the bunk. He didn’t stumble like he thought he would. Nice. That’s one small victory for Stark, compared to his countless failures. He took a few cautionary steps in the direction of the common area of the ship, using the various bunks, walls, and handles as support, before deciding that he could walk and move about just fine.

 

In the common area of the ship, he opened what appeared to be the alien version of a refrigerator in search of more space booze. He felt bad drinking, but it made him feel a little less shitty than usual. The alcohol diluted his thoughts and made him feel a little warm inside, not to mention the drink’s effects on boredom and claustrophobia. Besides, no one here could judge him, anyways. Nebula usually hid in the other areas of the ship, and everyone else that cared about Tony was dead or missing.

 

He thought it was funny, in a weird, mildly morbid way, that he started his journey as Iron Man stranded in a cave with a bald man, and here he was, ending his journey stranded in a spaceship with a bald woman. At least this time he had something to drink to ease the pain.

 

Only, there was nothing left in the fridge, save for a few bits of trash.

 

He took a step back in surprise. Surely he didn’t drink the last of the alcohol? He could’ve sworn there was one or two leftover from his last trip to the fridge.

 

Interrupting his confusion was Nebula, who called to him from across the room. “Looking for these?”

 

Tony turned to look at the woman, noticing that she was showing off the remains of the booze. He closed the fridge and replied. “Yes, actually. Mind tossing me a bottle?”

 

Nebula didn’t move. “These are bad for your health, you know.”

 

The man let out a small laugh. “Like I’ve never heard that before. Bottle, please?”

 

“Is that really the wisest decision right now, Stark? We’re low on water as is, we don’t need you to become even more dehydrated because of this,” she replied, shaking the bottles slightly.

 

“The bottle. Give it to me.” Tony sounded desperate and even a little snappy. He’d never acted like this before about alcohol. For a moment, he wondered what was up with himself. He felt pathetic.

 

Nebula shot a glare at him before tossing a bottle his way. Tony caught it midair, not without fumbling the bottle, however.

 

“These drinks are bad for your sanity as well, Stark. Consider your choices wisely.” Before Tony had the chance to mumble a ‘thank you,’ Nebula walked with brisk confidence towards the steps to the flight deck and climbed out of Tony’s line of sight.

 

Tony’s eyes rested on the now unoccupied steps for a few moments, before turning downwards to inspect the drink in his hands. It was cool to the touch and wet with condensation, and its warm, brown color looked so inviting to Tony as he imagined the stress the drink will relieve from his shoulders. Tony approached the table in the center of the common room and used the table’s edge to pop open the bottle, catching the cap before it fell to the floor. He pocketed the worthless treasure before bringing the bottle up to his mouth, tilting the drink just enough for the intoxicating liquid to brush against his chapped lips. He stopped for a moment, before lowering the drink.

 

He stared down into the eye of the bottle, at the liquid that seemed to wave at him. The dark juice that once seemed welcoming now looked somewhat unsettling. The warm color of the brandy looked closer to the pitch black appearance of gasoline. 

 

What happened in those brief moments? Wasn’t he happy to have his alcohol back? This space beverage was supposed to make him feel better, but he was currently doubting that.

 

He raised the drink to his thirsty lips again, before, again, lowering his arms. Maybe Nebula’s words got to him. Maybe she was right, that drinking wasn’t a good choice if he wanted to survive to see Pepper again, assuming she still lived of course. Or perhaps Tony wanted to live his last moments in sobriety, thoughts developing in his mind naturally and not under the influence of the mysterious space brandy.

 

Maybe it’s what Peter or Pepper would’ve wanted him to do.

 

\---

 

A week later, Tony sat alone on the floor of the flight deck. In front of him lay the battered remains of his helmet. He sat there, undisturbed and unmoving, for what seemed like hours. He was afraid, so afraid.

 

Breaking the stillness in the air, Tony reached out with one quavering hand to gently caress the side of his beloved project, before pressing a button on its temple. A noise similar to that of a clicking camera ruined the deafening silence of the room, and Tony sighed a long, defeated sigh.

 

He tapped on the helmet a few times, asking “Is this thing on?” He tried posing his question in a playful way but found it difficult to even joke in his predicament.

 

“Hey Ms. Potts,” he began. “If you find this recording…” He interrupted himself with a quick intake of breath. “Don’t feel bad about this. Part of the journey is the end.”


End file.
